Life On A Dime
by meiloorun-notthe-fruit
Summary: "No matter what I do, these kids will get into trouble, so maybe you could teach them how to get out of trouble.." - Donald Duck. Out of all of them, it was Louie Duck and Webby Vanderquack who were known for getting into trouble very easily. Dewey looked for trouble, Huey actively avoided it, but trouble seemed to always find Webby and Louie, even if they didn't want it.
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't Launchpad's fault; that was the one thing Louie and Webby could agree on about the accident.

Crashing had been Launchpad's thing, yes, but not like this, never like this; the destruction of the Sunchaser, so bad, nothing had been left-only pieces scattered around and fires to be put out. Launchpad McQuack had been good at crashing planes, but Webby refuses to think that this was his fault; that Launchpad had planned for this to happen. Louie doesn't want to think about it. He feels guilty even imagining such a thing. Launchpad would never ever do this to them; to his family. Because Launchpad is - had been - family.

Louie knew Launchpad's death would be caused by a plane crash; Launchpad himself had said so at Mt. Neverrest. Louie just hadn't thought he meant it seriously. Or that when the day it happened, his entire family would go down with him.

Well, almost the entire family - Webby and Louie - they're all that's left. If they stick together, maybe someone will find them, maybe they'll belong somewhere again-

* * *

They had been ejected from their seats; that's the reason they're alive.

* * *

They ended up waking in a debris field, surrounded by fire, burning metal, and coal black smoke billowing around them. The desert stretches beyond their line of vision. It's night time, and there's a chill that hangs in the air, a chill that even the heat from the nearby flames cannot drive away - cannot warm them. There's a cold in their bones, a sense of foreboding, and it only makes the two ducklings feel worse.

They're confused at first, faint memories of screaming and trying to hold on to something, anything, /the seat belts had snapped/ are pushed to the back of their minds. The wreckage, which is already so horribly broken and twisted, almost unrecognizable (it used to be red), begins to rumble, and the sound of crushing metal and crackling thing - it's definitely not the Sunchaser any more - makes itself known.

Needless to say, the noise is loud and can be taken as a sign, as a warning. They need to get away; Louie and Webby know this.

They still don't move.

Webby starts to say something, but stops herself; she feels if she opens her mouth, even a little bit, she'll probably throw up. And she doesn't have time to deal with that. It's better that she doesn't say anything at all; Louie wouldn't have been able to hear her anyway; the ringing in his ears are too loud, and his head has a heartbeat of its own.

They lay on the ground for a while, trying to catch their breath, because moving seems like a lot of work right now. But the noise is becoming insistent, growing louder by the minute. Louie thinks it resembles that of the boiler back on the houseboat, whenever it malfunctioned; it malfunctioned a lot. Louie decides this must be the same case with the wreck. He turns his head, pokes Webby, and tells her this. She then turns to him and pokes him right back - between the eyes - and then decides now is good time to move. Louie agrees.

They know they won't get very far before something happens - Webby's all pale and Louie probably looks as worse as he feels - they aren't in any shape to move, much less move far. They decide to try anyways.

The thing sputters, and with it's unbearable noise, more black smoke is released into the air. The fire around the wreck rages on. The kids make their decision. Louie struggles, but Webby's already on her feet; her head hurts something awful and everything is spinning (she hasn't thrown up yet, so that's a plus) - she stands at attention anyway. Louie's still trying to get his dang legs to work with him for gods sake when suddenly, without really being conscious of her movements, Webby hoists him up in one go.

He lets out a cry of surprise and a mumble of "warn me next time you do that."

Webby nods, swallows her guilt, swallows her nausea, doesn't say anything. The ringing in Louie's ears are gone, but his head is killing him. They're unsteady on their feet, so they lean on each other. Moving, but it's more like shuffling really. Bit by bit, they walk away, and the wreck becomes a splotch, a nasty black smudge in the sands around it.

They're not very far, when the entire thing seem to finally collapse in on itself. Smoke billows up and swallows the wreck whole. It threatens to swallow them up too. They run for their lives.

They run and they run and they don't look back; they don't want to.

* * *

The pair had found a dune to their liking, the wreck visible from the perch, when exhaustion finally catches up to them. They had hiked up, and Louie had flopped to sandy earth dramatically. Webby, suddenly dizzy, trips. She thumps to the ground - hard. There's a shout of alarm from Louie.

"Webby!"

He's up in an instant, scrambling to her. He falls, his knees getting all scratched up with sand. Webby's head lays on his shoulder.

"M'ok."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep."

There's a moment of stillness (-leaving Louie slightly panicky and trying his dang best not to show it-) - it's practically suffocating - when Webby swiftly interrupts it; no time for proper social etiquette when even she can see her friend is floundering; concussed or not, she's going to help her friend.

"Louie. Hey Louie.."  
The duckling in question swivels his head in her direction, concern and anxiety clear on his face. She has his attention.

"I-uh-I'm ok. Really, I am. Things could be worse; if I'd broken my leg, I'd definitely need some tweetment."

She waits for a second, and then the joke seems to register to Louie. It's not that funny, but it doesn't stop him from dissolving into laughter - even if his giggles do sound a little hysterical. The terrible, awful pun has done it's job.

It's only later, after they've really calmed down, that Webby mentions if she really had broken her leg, then real treatment would be hard to find, out here in the desert. They both pointedly decide not to think about that longer than they have to.

* * *

They take turns waking each other up, each time one of them doses off; putting sleep off for as long as possible was a lot better than being confronted with nightmares. Especially when there were no adults around to chase them away with their presence.

* * *

Banter is one way of putting off the inevitable.

"You're bony Lou, but at least you're feathery enough too".

"Well, you're head's digging into my shoulder. It's probably made up of steel too, after that hit you took didn't knock ya out first."

"Didn't you hear? I have a hard head; I probably damaged the floor, with how solid I hit the ground. And it's not my head digging into your shoulder; it's your shoulder digging into my nonexistent ears. But yah, still hard head."

A snort. Then, "Nah Webs, you're a bonehead."

"If Imma bonehead, then you're a blockhead."

"Fair enough, fair enough; who needs real names, when we can just have aliases?"

"Ok then; from now on, I'm Bonehead and you're Blockhead."

They chortle at their inside joke and then Louie sticks his hand out.

"Hello Bonehead, I'm Blockhead."

"Charmed."

More laughter.

* * *

"Huey and Dewey need nicknames."

"Ok."

* * *

They settle with Knucklehead and Screwball, for Huey and Dewey, respectively.

Regardless of their intentions, the moment is a sober one.

* * *

Eventually, sleep catches up to them, no matter how much they avoid it.

"Goodnight Bonehead" is uttered by a drowsy Louie.

"Goodnight Blockhead."

Then quietly, by both, as they huddle next to each other,

"Goodnight Knucklehead. Goodnight Screwball."

"Goodnight Unca' Donald, goodnight Uncle Scrooge."

"Goodnight Granny."

Dreams and sleep swallow them whole, just like the fire and the smoke that did the same to their family.

* * *

Louie wakes in a panic, his hazy mind going into overdrive at a sudden realization. It's leaving him sick, he's shaking all over. He should probably stop shaking and being so scared, because his hyperventilating is jostling Webby's sleeping form.

Alone. You are Alone.

Louie tries to reason with himself - there's someone right here - you are not alone. Webby is right here. His mind does not listen, and he tries to distract himself; brushing some of the sand off his ripped hoodie - he's going to need a needle and a thread for that later. He feels a lump in his throat, and it's suddenly hard to breathe. Louie pulls his hoodie up and over his head and tucks his feet under the edge of his sweater.

Nothing is working, and Louie, tears in his eyes, eventually accept his panic, accepts the epiphany his sleep addled mind had sprung on to him.

His family. His normally loud, rambunctious, adventurous family, is no where to be seen.

Where is everyone? Where's Huey and Dewey? Uncle Donald? Uncle Scrooge? Ms. Beakley?

 **Why are he and Webby alone?**

The Sunchaser - with its crumbling remains and smoke he can smell, even from the distance he's at - with its metal strewn all around it like broken pieces of porcelain. Like one of Uncle Scrooge's expensive vases. It's burnt up and charred and leaving nothing behind.

Nothing. There is nothing left.

It's a freight train straight to the gut. He doesn't throw up, he can't. Because he hadn't eaten much, because Uncle Scrooge had promised him and Webby and Huey and Dewey that they would eat when they got there.

Well, Louie and Webby got there.

Nothing is left of the wreck, not with fire involved. Not even bodies.

Louie screams and screams and doesn't care if Webby wakes up and thinks he gone crazy. Maybe he has, because his brothers and his uncles are gone. His family is lost - maybe even dead.

His family is lost and so is he.


	2. Chapter 2

**jazz hands** guess whose updating earlier than expected (ITS ME)

I honestly can't believe there are people who actually enjoy my writing and this story in particular; after all, I came up with it when I had case of oh-so-terrible-horrible-indescribable writer's block. The comments I receive motivate me, so thank you so much to those who commented. (a lot of you enjoy angst just as much as I do lol :-) ). I'll try not throw Webby and Louie too much through the ringer, but what are favorite character for, amirite? :-)

anyways, ONWARDS TO THE STORY

* * *

In the expanses of a barren landscape, slumped down and oblivious to their surroundings, are two ducklings. They're asleep, back to back, leaning on each other. The sun is beating down on them, harsh rays unblinking and merciless to their situation, sand clinging to their clothes, and heat permeating the very air. Louie and Webby looks almost peaceful in their slumber, if the exhaustion on both their faces hadn't been so obvious; if their current situation was ignored.

Webby, even with signs of a concussion, had had enough sense of surrounding and of what was happening, to wake up in time to hear Louie's keening, hear his crying. She had said nothing as he had sobbed into her shoulder, only brushing off the seemingly endless grains of sand that had plagued them both. At least with all his crying, Webby figured Louie wouldn't get any sand in his eyes now, which would have probably made things worse. She told him that, but it only seemed to have made him cry harder.

Later he would tell her that that was something Huey would have said to him.

All her life, Webby had only known her Granny, knew that she was the only family she had left; if anything were to happen to her, the simplest thing to say was that Webby would be sunk. Inconsolable. And most of all, she'd have no other place to go. She didn't think would let her stick around the Manor and underfoot any longer, truth be told. She'd have to leave to god knows where, _on her own_ or worse, _she'd be taken away to St. Canard_ , where she doesn't know anybody-heck she didn't know anyone in Duckburg. No one would notice her absence and she'd be lost to the system, her worst fears confirmed: no matter how much her Granny had trained her for the real world, she wouldn't be able to fight her way through it, wouldn't make it through the ordeal whole. Because Webby didn't have anyone else in her corner. Betina Beakley had known that, so she had taught her granddaughter so much more than just the fighting. Of course, she had also taught her the fighting, _all the fighting_. Betina Beakley wasn't just a former British (super) spy for nothing.

Louie, on the other hand, had family. Heck, Louie even had extended family, a concept entirely foreign to Webby, that would immediately take him, Huey, and Dewey in, if anything ever happened to Donald. But even Webby had seen (and researched), in her short amount of time of watching the newly reunited Duck-McDuck family on their adventures, and in McDuck Manor, that their family was broken. Broken from the inside-out. There were arguments between Donald and Mr. McDuck that had shaken the walls of the Manor, over petty things, and over the ongoing mystery surrounding Della Duck. Donald had done his best to shield the children from his fighting with his uncle, but it didn't take a genius to deduce that if Huey, Dewey, and Louie's closest relatives were fighting with each other, over family matters, than there _had_ to be some fighting and disunion in _all_ their family.

To be surrounded by _that_ , well, Webby would rather try to make it on her own than watch family grapple at each other's throats.

Then again, Granny would have probably snapped a neck rather than grappled one.

It also didn't take a genius to guess that if Donald one day simply disappeared, the triplets would be lost, floating adrift- he'd been there for them for _forever_ , _for everything_ , borderline smothering them with his overprotectiveness. Sure, she knew from accounts of the triplet's lives on the houseboat that there had been times the family had been in a few tight spots, but Donald had always been able to pull through, leaving the triplets relatively unscathed from the ordeals. And Dewey had proudly regaled tales of the fights he and Louie had gotten into to defend one another, and sometimes to even protect their Uncle Donald's honor-Huey's temper forced him to stay out of fights, or else he feared he would one day go overboard; he had said his family didn't need that extra trouble. Webby had gladly told him if the day ever came they were ever in extreme mortal danger, she would make sure to throw his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook at the villains, if that's what it took to get him to explode.

Other than that, the triplets had never been exactly taught how to fend for themselves, for the day an adult couldn't or wouldn't be able to do that. Granny had taken care of that; Webby may be extremely socially awkward, but when the time had come, and it had, several times, she had beat back anyone, anything willing to mess with her, with whatever she had within her reach (like the Great Hortense McDuck had once done, when she had chased an entire army down from Killmotor Hill by herself.) It wasn't to say that the triplets each didn't have their own fortes, but they had come to rely on their Uncle Donald indefinitely. And that wasn't specifically a bad thing: all kids did that; it was normal.

But Webby wasn't normal. She didn't have a normal childhood.

She silently thanked her Granny for that now, as she continued to console Louie, because Webby Vanderquack had made up her mind, that fine hour of dark o'clock.

If no one else was up, then she and Louie were _not_ going to fall down too. Webby would make sure of that.

Life throws curveballs. Most make sure to avoid getting hit by them. Webby and Louie didn't even have the luxury of _seeing_ the dang ball thrown at them. All they could now was at least attempt to get up, rub at the bruises they had, and declare that they were both ok.

Even if that wasn't exactly true.

Louie woke up and immediately wished he was sleeping again. The sun is too bright, he's _parched_ , and sand that has _somehow_ lodged its way in his throat is making it worse. He tries to stand up, and only gets up half way when his body decides that _no, not right now,_ _ **please**_ _sit back down_ _ **now**_ _, or else we're going to pass out with heatstroke_. Or whatever it is that's making his muscles cramp up.

He sits back down, ignoring the already affronted state of his appearance and body, ignoring the sand that had inevitably made its way into his hoodie (again), and ignoring his heartbeat, which seems to be trying to beat its way out of his body, with how fast it's going. It definitely isn't helping his headache, with it having decided to rear its ugly head again. His back and behind are numb from sitting down and leaning for- well, for as long as he'd been passed out. He needs some sleep, because keeling over from shock and all the screaming he's done _did not_ count as beauty rest. The heat hasn't helped his case either; if Louie didn't know any better, he would have thought he had a concussion with all his trouble walking. ( _ha_ , as if he knew a lot about concussions)

 _Concussions._

 _Webby_.

Louie just about breaks his neck swiveling his head around, frantically looking for her. Webby is nowhere to be seen and they'd both been dead to the world ( _ha ha_ ) at the same time and he _really_ must be more exhausted and out of it than previously thought, if Webby's mad skills at being an escape artist has him this confused. She clearly isn't here, so she had clearly gotten up and gone somewhere.

And that meant the knock on her head and subsequent passing out wasn't as bad as he had thought it was. After all, Webby had been awake to see his breakdown-crying hadn't been that embarrassing really; if he had cried at the movie theaters, then he certainly had a right to cry when his family disappeared right before his eyes.

(He's going to find them).

Another one of his family members have disappeared, but Louie reassures himself with the fact that Webby's Houdini and James Bond all wrapped up in one. She'd be fine, where ever she had gone… No reason to panic. Webby would be fine; she had gone off somewhere, but she would come back. He can't imagine her striking out on her own and leaving him behind. He doesn't want to.

That's why Louie has to hope she comes back.

Louie settles with taking off his beloved hoodie and wrapping it around his head. Like in the movies; _like a mummy_ , Dewey would have eagerly added.

His attempts at standing are met with more success this time, and he wastes no time in setting up a little encampment, where he and Webby had both collapsed the night before. He drags pieces of sheets of metal that had ended up near there, taking care of not getting _too close_ to where the beginnings of scorched sand mark the start of the radius of the crash site. Louie doesn't want to go there; not yet at least. He ignores the heat, and he ignores his thirst, ignores the thought that _this would be a really cool story to post on social media if he had his phone_ , only focusing on yanking the sheets up the dune.

An hour later, there's a pitiful rendition of Eeyore's house of sticks sitting upon the knoll, except it looks like two giant, tin square plates leaning against one other. Needless to say, Louie is proud of himself, because he had finally got the _dang thing to stand and stay in its place_. It's a weird thing to be proud of having done, but Louie doesn't care.

 _Would Uncle Scrooge be proud?_ Probably not.

 _Huey would have done something a lot better in a shorter amount of time_. Louie ignores that thought too.

He instead busies himself with another task: searching for his bag; he had grabbed it last minute, before the Sunchaser had erupted into a fiery mushroom cloud. But apparently, bags can move, because it ended up a little ways down the dune he and Webby had scrambled to, while they'd been escaping.

He goes to pick it up. He really shouldn't be surprised that he ended up falling down.

* * *

It's a rather abrupt end, sort of a cliff hanger even but I'm ending Chapter 2 here. I hope all of you enjoyed the 2nd Chapter of Life On A Dime, let me know what you all think (feedback/comments give me life and motivation).

As of now, that major, major question has not been answered yet, you all know what I mean :-)

Until next time, dear readers.


End file.
